


Lock Down

by Runlights



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Brainwashing, Dubious Consent, HYDRA Trash Party, M/M, Rumlow is a dickbag, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 19:29:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2162367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Runlights/pseuds/Runlights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <span class="u">HYDRA Trash Party Prompt:</span>
</p><p>
  <i>Rumlow and Winter Soldier are contaminated with sex pollen/aphrodisiac and either quarantined or the Vault goes into lock down. They're stuck in a room together spewing pheromones, testosterone and fuck-me-now signals.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>But Winter Soldier hasn't had/been permitted to maintain an erection in 70 years. So he's confused, frightened, and fighting his instinct to fuck Rumlow to death because he hasn't been ordered to.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Rumlow thrives off order, authority and self-control, and would rather eat a bullet than show signs of weakness in front of a subordinate. But his instinct to fuck Winter Soldier to death takes Rumlow's self-discipline and replaces it with WANTS and NEEDS.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Extremely violent, life-saving, sex ensues.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lock Down

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure I can actually explain how this came about. I made the mistake of curiously looking at the trash meme community. Opps. That being said, I regret nothing about this dirty contribution to the internet save to say I'm very, very rusty at writing smut fics.
> 
> I am also clearly incapable of writing any manner of short drabble. As always, this is not beta'd.

***

The alarm suddenly blared to life, drowning out any sound he was attempting to make in debriefing the asset on their upcoming mission. The awful noise was paired with an odd warning light over the door, red and flashing like some malfunctioning stop light. Neither had happened before during all his time in this particular HYDRA base, but any alarm in a place that made and altered biological medications and diseases was not a place he wanted to stay in when an alarm was sounding.

Brock glanced over to the door when the automatic electrical locks ground into place. He rolled his eyes towards the heavens and grunted in displeasure, pointing at the Winter Soldier and indicating that the asset take a seat on the metal slab that was supposed to be a bed. He didn’t even look, aware that the weapon would do as ordered without question.

While external communications would always be down in an underground base like this, internal communication should still be up and running. He switched channels and radioed in. “Dispatch, I need clarification on the alarm code.” It was unfortunate he had to plug his other ear just to hear anything over the alarm.

While he might not have been the only one radioing, his position with the asset made him one of the more important ones. “Biochemical leak, sir. Once it has been contained, it will be exhausted into the atmosphere.”

“Estimated time,” he barked. They were on the clock here.

“No more than an hour, sir,” came the reply. “The air circulation system has been compromised in the leak.”

Brock glanced towards the grate high in the wall, but he couldn’t tell if it was working or not. His hearing wasn’t as good when there was an alarm blaring, but that didn’t mean that his charge couldn’t get the answer for him. Once they knew the air was circulating, it would be time to gear up, as long as the annoying alarm didn’t give him the biggest headache of his life.

He walked over to the asset, meeting empty blue eyes and pointed at the grate. “Up there and tell me when you feel or hear air circulating. Report on it, now,” he said and stepped back as the weapon stood and moved to follow his bidding.

He didn’t even wince when the wall suffered damage for the Winter Soldier to scale it, and it might have been a bit more amusing to see the fabled unstoppable assassin hanging near an air grate by that metal arm. Oddly enough, the asset leaned close to obviously listen, but he could see the shift of long hair which indicated air movement.

“Air is circulating normally,” the Winter Soldier reported to him.

Brock frowned and paced a few times, almost considering calling back to dispatch for clarification, but he waited. If it was compromised, they would probably restart the system. They would have to manually shut it off and restart it. “Report when it shuts down.” Damn, it was going to get cold in here when the air stopped circulating.

Yet, he waited for what he knew had to have been up to thirty minutes with the asset still hanging at the grate, hair shifting with the air flow. Something was wrong though he had begun to notice. Instead of a tight coil that the weapon had started as, the Winter Soldier began to sway a bit, appearing almost uncomfortable, and yet he couldn’t help but notice how fine those fatigues clung to the asset’s backside.

 _’He’d look better out of them,’_ he thought. It was that stray idea that slammed up his defenses immediately. That was not a thought to have about the most deadly weapon in HYDRA, and it was not a thought he had allowed himself to consider before. He hadn’t even entertained it. Doing so was the equivalent of rubbing his balls with the edge of a sharp knife.

“Dispatch, I need a status update,” Brock finally demanded into his communication unit.

“Facility is under full lock-down.” The voice on the other end sounded haggard. “The ventilation malfunction has not been rectified. We’re in progress.”

“And what biochemical leak happened,” he said, glancing up to the asset who appeared to be breathing heavily. 

“That information is classified.”

Brock was thankful that the alarm suddenly shut off, but his aggravation and discomfort was only increasing the longer he stood in on spot. “I need clarification on the leak. I have the asset with me, and he’s reacting.”

There was silence for a long moment, and he wondered if dispatch was ignoring him. They did that sometimes, the assholes, no doubt getting enjoyment out of the classified subject matter. Yet, when dispatch answered, it was a new voice. “Repeat order.”

“I need clarification on the biochemical leak. The asset is in the room with me, and he’s reacting.” How else was he supposed to describe the huffing noises coming from close to the grate or the fact that the asset was barely hanging on up there?

“Your room has been compromised,” the dispatcher finally said. “You and the asset have been exposed to an airborne biological stimulant in high concentrations.”

Brock looked up at the asset and snapped at his charge to come down from the air vent. It was done promptly, but the Winter Soldier stumbled in the landing, going down roughly to kneel awkwardly. He had never seen that kind of gross balance oversight. The strange huffing hadn’t ceased either, and he was increasingly aware that he felt uncomfortable in his clothing, like it grated on his skin. He also found his gaze continually straying to the fallen weapon across the room.

“Dispatch, I… what the hell have we been exposed to?” His breathing was starting to pick up, drawing in more air when it hadn’t seemed necessary a moment before. “Symptoms?”

“A biological stimulant…”

“Yeah, I heard that the first time. Stop with science talk and tell me what I’m up against,” he snarled, his temper fighting with the fact that his trousers were starting to feel tight. They had absolutely no right to, damn it.

“You, sir, will become extremely aroused and will engage in sexual intercourse with the nearest living person. If you don’t, the symptoms will get worse. It’s… been known to cause heart-attacks and system-wide shut down because of the strain.” The dispatcher was talking very rapidly now like if the words were spoken faster, they wouldn’t have the same impact. “We… don’t know the effects on the asset. His metabolism is often too high for medication overdose. Though… this is airborne, so it might bypass his metabolites and… er… take root in his brain tissue and stimulate his… oh.”

By this point, Brock had a very good idea what it was doing, which would explain the huffing noise from the Winter Soldier who still hadn’t found the strength to stand again. He moved to walk over to the asset, but the moment he began to walk, his clothing rubbed against his skin and it was like a thousand caresses on his nerve endings all at once. It almost dropped him to his knees.

Instead, he bent over, hands settling on his knees and keenly aware of his sudden and very intense boner. No, _no_! He was not losing control to some biological sex pollen; he was a man who valued mastery of himself as much as he valued the order he confined himself to. He was _not_ losing control of himself here, now or ever. He’d rather eat a bullet, and he was keenly aware that he had a pistol on him ready for use. Maybe he’d shoot the asset first because if that empty head filled with any desires, he’d be damned if he could stop that monster from acting on it.

“ _Shit_ ,” he snarled, clenching his fingers into his knees as, unbidden, the smell of the other occupant reached his nose. The asset issued a soft sound that might have been a groan or might have been a growl. “Shut up,” he snapped through gritted teeth because that sound had gone straight down his spine to his groin.

Through sheer force of will and grasping a mental strangle hold on himself, Brock stood upright and issued a noise of frustration just to get it out of his system. He stared beadily at the Winter Soldier who reacted like he had released a grenade in the room with them.

The asset had finally risen, though there was a very obvious tenting to the Winter Soldier’s fatigue front, but the expression on that normally blank face was one of confusion, like the idiot had no idea what to do with the sensation of being aroused. Those blue eyes, normally blank and glassy before a mission were keen and almost comically wide, irises dilated and mouth slightly ajar. It was probably the closest to a look of surprise the Winter Soldier could wear.

And all Brock could think was that he wanted to see that look of surprise grow and hoarse little calls emerge from those tempting lips. He smothered the thought and immediately backed off to the furthest corner from the asset, biting his lip until he tasted blood at the constant thrumming _need_ and _want_ that was not going to override his grip on authority over himself.

“Sit,” he ordered the asset. For a moment, there was a flicker of rebelliousness, a confused keening noise that left the Winter Soldier, but soon enough, order overruled and boxed off unwanted behaviours. The asset sat, just plunked down on the floor and stared at him like a lost confused child with an impressive tented erection.

“Stay,” he added for good measure. Though, he might have just as well been ordering himself the same thing.

And so they waited on opposite corners of their new prison. Brock felt like he was breathing as if he had run a race, and his heart kept hammering in his chest regardless of all attempts to slow it down. Sweat had built up on his brow and neck, and he felt more than a few beads rolling down his spine. The smell of the other man by now had invaded his part of the room, drowning him in wants of just throwing the asset down and pounding that flesh until it bruised.

The Winter Soldier appeared to be having similar troubles, though there had been several subtle attempts to override his previous orders. The dark hair by now was clinging to the asset’s cheeks and neck, and the weapon had gone back to that confused sort of huffing with the occasional hanging of that head which was supposed to be empty. It wasn’t; those eyes spoke of untold desires as the asset bridled against training, modification and order.

Ten minutes passed. Then thirty. Then an hour.

Brock was having trouble restraining himself in the same way he was having trouble drawing enough air into his lungs. His heart was beating too fast to properly pump oxygen to his strained tissues and his head just kept bouncing between reminding himself _order through pain_ and _I’m going to fuck him until one or both of us dies._

He felt like he was heading fast towards a heart-attack, and he at least hoped he snuffed it first. The asset could do whatever the bastard wanted with his still warm corpse.

Another ten minutes. Then his communication unit came to life and a voice he recognized abruptly spoke. “Agent Rumlow,” Alexander Pierce said. The asset perked across from him, issuing a growl of want.

“Shut up,” he snarled at the Winter Soldier who curled a lip in a snarl of challenge. _Shit._ “Sir… myself and the asset are compromised.”

“I’m aware of the situation.” Pierce somehow sounded calm. That made Brock nervous. “The Winter Soldier is more important than you.” Yeah well, he knew that. He couldn’t be frozen and unfrozen like a bag of peas. “If he dies, don’t expect to walk out. I will order the room decontaminated with you in it, dead or alive.”

Brock struggled to form words when all he really wanted to do was flick his tongue over his lips in invitation to the asshole across the room from him. He managed a grunt, glaring when the asset issued one in return. And how did that sound so attractive right now?

“Are you ordering me to have sex with the asset, sir?” Because if it was an order, he could let himself go a little. He hadn’t failed himself; he had kept control.

“Do whatever you must to ensure the health of the Winter Soldier.” He hoped that pained Pierce to say that because the idea of Pierce in pain right now made his erection throb pleasantly. “And if he kills you, I’ll be certain to make a donation to your favourite charity.”

Brock pulled off his communication device from his ear and threw it as hard as he could across the room, feeling no more vindicated with the childish act. He put his head between his knees like he was trying to prevent himself from passing out right then and there, but it only made his arousal so much worst, pounding in his veins, in his muscles, in his brain.

He had the order. There was order in the same way there was about to be pain.

The Winter Soldier released a growl that ended with a confused keen. The sound only served to snap his attention entirely over to the asset sitting in a disheveled mess, and he could tell that the need for air was exaggerated like his was. They were both under strain, but he wasn’t built in the same way that the Soldier was to manage strain. Of course, he also hadn’t been getting a face full of the stimulate from the air grate so long either.

Slowly, he forced himself to his feet, and his trousers pulled against his throbbing erection and got a hiss of pleasure from him. He made it to his feet, which, at that point, felt like an accomplishment. The look the weapon threw him should have just shredded his clothing.

“On your feet,” he ordered as coldly as he could. His eyes crawled over the asset as the weapon struggled to rise, and it was that struggle which made his knees weak with desperate want. “Strip,” he added once he thought the Winter Soldier would stay up.

And they struggled through the various belts, holsters, buckles, zippers, buttons and brush of material in much the same way. The asset faltered more often, but then again, his charge was in more complicated clothing. It wasn’t an attractive strip show, but it was one, and it got his erection throbbing so painfully he considered just giving up and letting the asset at him. The violence would probably kill him, and by then, he wouldn’t give a shit.

“Just cut it off,” he snarled viciously when the Winter Soldier’s fingers, normally so smooth and strong, fumbled with the button of his own fatigues.

It was only belatedly that he thought it was unwise to bring a weapon into this whole mess. Yet, his hands froze at pulling his black t-shirt up his chest when some of the asset’s deadly grace returned with a knife in hand. His mouth went dry and his eyes followed every motion of that flicking blade as the Winter Soldier slipped it into the top of those black fatigues and sliced them open… down over the swell of hip and ripping noisily down one leg and back up the other.

When the asset rose, shedding black trousers like a snake sheds its skin, he was still staring with his mouth slightly open as thoughts just paraded through his head at an alarming rate. Then the horny bastard came at him with the knife, and he hissed and moved to shove the other man away from him. His wrists were caught in that metal hand with a nifty trick he had no idea how to ever replicate, but it made his erection want to explode right then and there.

Brock went to head-butt the asset, but he abandoned the useless aggression to instead slam his mouth against the Winter Soldier’s, their teeth cracking together as pleasure was momentarily awash with pain. They kissed with more teeth than lips, snapping at each other, catching lips and dangerously close to damaging flicking tongues that moved in to taste and tease, tasting blood as much as the taste of their lips and mouths.

He was distinctly aware of the knife blade sliding and caressing his skin as the asset cut off his clothing, and there was only a single bite of the blade on his left pectoral which seemed so purposeful. His revenge was that finally managed to catch the asset’s lower lip and bite _hard_ , blood filling his mouth as the groan of pain from the other made his hips thrust up into the Winter Soldier’s. Pleasure exploded behind his eyes.

He had no idea how he ended up in the floor or how much time had passed, but it couldn’t have been that long because his lips were swollen and bleeding, his clothing was a mess of tatters around his ankles and the cold of the floor stinging his hot skin, which was faster to bring him around than anything.

The Winter Soldier was crouched with some apparent difficulty at his feet, blood dripping from the weapon’s chin from the ruined lower lip. It was a look that the asset wore well and he suddenly rolled onto his stomach to grab his equipment bag which was thankfully within reach. He somehow tore into the contents, tossing what was in his way as he felt the asset creeping closer with deadly intent; he knew he was a single moment away from getting rutted to death on the floor. He doubted at this point the Soldier cared about getting it right after all as long as the bastard pounded somewhere on some cleft of a body.

He managed to find the small tub of vasaline that he always had in his personal supplies. He considered himself too manly for lip chap - especially that flavoured bullshit - so he carried this. It was also dead useful for oiling door handles to prevent entry, slicking a floor and even covering money to be hidden underwater in case of emergency. It wasn’t ideal lube, but it was better than nothing.

Then a heavy weight pounced on his back, pinning him to the floor. He cursed at the sudden skin-to-skin contact, but he elbowed the asset hard, driving the other man off of him as he rolled up and slammed a hand against the Winter Soldier’s throat. They froze like that, his breath coming in desperate gasps and the asset watching him with a murderous urgency as the bastard’s hips rose towards his thigh.

“ _Shit_ ,” he swore as he nudged the asset’s legs apart as he lowered his head and bit flesh just at the lowest portion of the weapon’s rib cage, earning a hiss of pleasure. Hands grasped the back of his head painfully, pushing him towards the source of the soldier’s discomfort, but he resisted even as his neck felt like it might break in the process. No, he was in control!

No, in the time it took the asset to realize he wouldn’t go, he had his fingers slicked with vasaline and he hurriedly jammed his hand between the weapon’s parted thighs, slipping a finger inside of the other man with only a cursory prod as warning. The asset let out a surprised noise, but that previously murderous expression warped back to that comical look of confused shock.

He hurried the process because he was certain that his heart was about to stop at any moment or just plain burst from his chest. He soon jammed a second finger to join the first, stretching as quickly as possible as the asset writhed in pleasure under him. He applied his teeth to leave little red welts along the Winter Soldier’s heaving chest before inserting a third finger.

“…more…!”

“Shut up, I’m hurrying,” he snarled back. “You’re lucky I give you this at all.”

Brock was hurrying after all, stretching the asset because some part of him wanted and needed but still demanding he take some control of the situation. Lubing up the guy he was about to bump uglies with was as far as niceties went.

“…more…” It was less of a plea and more of a threat. Give the asset more or else.

He jerked his fingers free with vindictive roughness before he quickly replaced his hand with his hips, and he only haphazardly smeared his raging erection with his hand before he thrust into the asset in a single hard stroke. They both let out similar noises, and he couldn’t give the weapon time to adjust to the sudden invasion. He _needed_.

Their mouths crashed together again as his hands gripped onto the asset’s heaving and sweaty slick sides, but the soldier’s hands grabbed his hips with a bruising strength, which only encouraged his sudden urgent pace as he thrust into the other man with a single-minded need. He was relentless and with a hint of desperation in his rhythm as they worked for and against each other.

It didn’t help that they slipped a bit on the cold floor. It was annoying enough that he shifted his hands from the Winter Soldier’s ribs to setting his hands on either side of the asset’s head so the other man’s shoulders rolled painfully against his wrists but limited how much they slid.

His lips drew back bloody, though he couldn’t tell whose blood it was anymore. It didn’t matter. Instead, he smeared the blood along the curve at the asset’s jaw, listening to the little grunts of pleasure that emerged from the asset’s red lips, his hips only riding the other man harder as the burning need bore into the back of his brain, urging him on in the same way that the Winter Soldier’s hands gripped and dragged at his hips for a faster pace.

He gave in to the urging, feeling the rhythmic clenching of the soldier’s muscles around his length. The pleasure was consuming him, yet his heart no longer felt like it was trying to crawl from his chest, and he breathed as he should during an activity like this. His hips lost some of their rhythm for the sake of desperation of reaching for the ultimate goal.

Almost belatedly, he slid a hand between them to grasped the asset’s straining erection, stroking at the same pace of their smacking hips. It earned a loud almost obscene groan from the Winter Soldier, and that sound was almost his undoing right then and there.

Instead, he managed to thrust as deep as he could a few times before he swore as he came, his hand still stroking the asset with far more of an erratic motion thanks to pleasure half-blinding him as his orgasm ripped a hole in any sense of control that he thought he had in that moment and the situation. The asset came a few strokes later, messing both of their stomachs with sticky hot semen.

Brock panted, leaning and almost sagging down upon the Soldier, but he had enough good sense to pull out and lay beside the shuddered mess that he had just had sex with. Yet, his heart rate slowly normalized and his breathing was something that he could control even if his limbs still tingled with pleasure and sweat and the only thing that seemed like a blessing right about now was how cool the floor was that he lay his stomach upon.

He turned his head as the asset sat up, hair all a mess, stomach even more of a mess, but looking far more alert than he felt. He supposed something had to be said for super-soldier stamina, and he felt a momentarily flare of envy. It was too bad that juice wasn’t even getting an attempt at replication anymore.

“Settle,” he ordered for the sake of ordering.

“…more?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, no, take a minute for the euphoric bullshit, would you?” He managed to crawl away from the asset who looked confused again, and he was glad when he wasn’t followed as he found a new patch of relatively clean floor to lay his stomach on.

He closed his eyes, savouring the fact that he could scrape together his control and his pride back together again. Now if only they could get some new clothes and be released from this cell that they had been contaminated in, he would be more than happy with that. Until then, he was going to savour the cold floor and the pleasant buzz in his flesh that came only with a damn good lay.

Rumlow was certain that he hadn’t actually dozed off, but he must have lost some track of time because there was a sudden press of metal across the back of his shoulders, effectively pinning him to the ground. “What in the hell are you doing,” he snarled before he became aware of that odd huffing again. “You’re not actually ready to go again… oh, well look at that, you are…” He made the unfortunate choice of looking over his shoulder. Goddamn super-soldiers!

“Again…”

“Piss off,” he said and shifted to slam his elbow into the asset’s ribs. There was a shudder at impact, but the Soldier didn’t back off this time. “Settle elsewhere,” he finally ordered.

“No.” That word alone would earn the asset time in the chair.

 _”Shit…”_ He felt the press of that metal arm keeping him pinned but worse, he felt the asset’s flesh fingers slipping between the crack of his ass, fingers slick with what he no doubt imagined to be his abandoned vasaline. Yet, even as he growled, he felt the new hot pang of need twisting in his body. “Don’t you dare!”

The Winter Soldier most certainly had hit the point of daring and very eagerly too. Slick fingers pressed inside of him, beginning the process of stretching him, and he banged a fist on the floor because he couldn’t even turn over or do much more than thrash. Brock could only curse and struggle under the weight of that arm across the back of his shoulders, but the asset seemed to take his cussing as active participation.

While he would deny it to anyone who ever mentioned it, punch people’s teeth out for any leering grins in his direction and shoot a man in the leg for asking him questions, he mentally admitted it wasn’t quite so bad being ridden into the floor by the Winter Soldier. The guy was effective of puzzle solving and mimicry, a good combination because he wasn’t in a position to order how and where to touch him to get him off just right. The asset managed just fine without his input, even if he received more bite welts on his back than if he had been savaged by a feral cat.

In the hours they suffered through their contaminated state, he learned a hell of a lot about himself and the asset. He also hated the Soldier’s stamina because when he was too tired or still recovering from taking the Winter Soldier, apparently it was just fine to get on top of him and hold him down until all he could do was lay in a soaking mess of limbs, sweat and semen.

Brock was ever thankful when the door was finally unlocked once they and the room had been pronounced decontaminated enough to be safe for release. Both of them walked with a little hitch to their step to the showers. Staff avoided them or seemed too horrified to make a comment on how bruised, bloody and sore he was. The Winter Soldier only fared a little better because of that obnoxious faster healing, but even then, he had left a huge bloody hickey right in the middle of the bastard’s chest before they had left.

All he could really do was to vow that he was never, ever coming back to this HYDRA base. That and demand that it was his finger on the button that shocked the shit out of the asset’s brain this time.


End file.
